Outbid by the Boss (10 page)

Max’s sharp whinny brought Chas up short. He jerked Damien around and tore back down the path to where Sam lay unmoving on the ground. He flung himself from the saddle and kneeled beside her.

“Sam,” he called. “Sam, can you hear me?”

She opened one mud-encrusted eye and then closed it again. “I think George was wrong about the Irish,” she groaned.

“Where does it hurt? Can you get up?” Chas gripped her hand, afraid to move her in case there were serious injuries.

“It hurts in too many places to name,” Sam murmured.
“And my pride.
My pride is damaged beyond redemption.” Her right eye fluttered open. “I think the mud saved the rest of me.
Thoughtful of you to put the mud right here.”
She sighed. “Isn’t this where the handsome prince kisses the princess and makes it all better.”

“Absolutely,” said Chas.

But it was Max who leaned over her and snorted, his whiskers brushing her face with slobber.

“Yeow!”
Sam shot into a sitting position. “Okay.
Serves me right.
Now my pride is completely shattered.”

Chas exploded with laughter.

“You, Miss Redfern, are full of surprises…but, seriously, are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Chas. A little stunned, but nothing’s broken.” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis and then smiled at him, the sun twinkling in her eyes and the laughter bringing a glow to her cheeks that no cosmetic could ever achieve.

Still, Chas assessed her carefully. He should never have left her. He saw the splash of mud on her forehead, the way her hair twisted wildly from underneath her helmet and that tiny sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Without doubt, he concluded, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“I’m not a prince,” he murmured, “but I do want to make it all better.”

Eyes locking on hers, he leaned in for a soft kiss. He did not demand as he had the night before; he offered the sweetness of his lips, fuelled by the admiration that was growing in him for this unexpected woman. He felt her hesitate only a second and then she drew herself toward him, her hand slowly reaching for his shoulder. His kiss became firmer, more demanding and joyfully she parted her lips to take in as much of him as he offered. The earthiness of their surroundings mingled with Sam’s natural freshness. She wound her arms around his neck. Chas pulled her closer to him relishing the soft curves of her body, the supple firmness of her form. His kiss became stronger and deeper; his hands stroked her back, their passions twined. Dimly, he knew
he should pull back, stop himself. But he had never been as drawn to any woman as to Sam…his employee…off limits…

The thought froze as twelve-hundred pounds of horseflesh bumped his shoulder hard, propelling him forward. With a woof, Sam landed back into the mud, only this time Chas was on top of her.

“Apparently,” he drawled, “our behaviour is unbecoming.”

He glanced back to see his massive chestnut had joined his buddy by the stream. Their big brown eyes looked on disapprovingly as Chas reluctantly rolled off Sam and drew her to her feet. She reached up to wipe a streak of mud from his face. He caught her by the wrist. “Are you really all right?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she said. Her eyes slid beyond him. “But we do have the most unusual chaperones.”

Their eyes met again, and Chas felt his pulse speed up, but Sam shook her head.

“I don’t know how we’re going to explain this to Mrs. Weekes,” she said brushing ineffectually at the mud caking her backside.

Fighting a feeling of rejection, Chas pulled his eyes away and reached for Damien’s reins. “Unfortunately, I think Mrs. Weekes will figure things out without any kind of explanation.”

Sam’s smile suddenly became brittle. “Seen this before, has she?” She grabbed Max’s reins and leading him to a fallen tree, stood on it while she gingerly raised herself into the saddle.

Chas mounted up and walked Damien beside the seething Sam. “No, never from me,” he said evenly. “It’s obvious there is an attraction between us.” He hesitated. “But I do have to apologize…again. There’s been no excuse for my behavior. You are my employee and should not be subjected to this.” His words were harsh, but they had to be said.

He urged Damien ahead of Sam, not wanting her to see his embarrassment, and above all, not wanting her to see how much he yearned to take her in his arms. But he was not his father or his grandfather. He owed it to her to protect her – even from himself.

They rode this way to the stable yard, Sam slightly behind him and stonily silent. Wearily, Chas wished that he had not made such a muddle of things, had not let his attraction for her drive his actions. Every example in his life shouted that letting passion rule led to emotional and financial disaster. He had almost repaired the financial disaster. He didn’t know how to repair the emotional mayhem. The honourable thing would be to discharge Sam’s debt, and let her go, candlestick and all. He was quite capable of dealing with his own estate. But he couldn’t bear
the thought of staying at the Hall without her. He needed her help, but most of all, he needed her. He swung off Damien and silently steadied Sam as she slid down from Max. “Go on in and clean up,” he told her. “I’ll groom the horses.”

She smiled but her eyes were like ice chips. “Good idea,” she said. “I’ll take the back stairs. Throw Mrs. Weekes off the scent. And maybe, when I’ve showered and changed, we can meet in the library. I’ll be Miss Redfern, and you can be Mr. Porter. And we can pretend that neither today, nor yesterday ever happened.”

“Sam!” Chas called, but she had swept away toward the house trying desperately not to limp in her borrowed boots.

The early evening sun was washing the cobblestones with streaks of pink and gold as Chas crossed the yard and entered the stables. He paused, letting the familiar cocoon of its shadowy interior wrap around him. There was no need to turn on any lights. Sam was exactly where he knew she’d be; in Max’s stall making amends. He could hear the rustle of straw and the soft swish of the brush as she moved about currying Max’s coat.

Shortly after they’d returned from their disastrous ride, Chas had sent a note of apology up to Sam’s room, along with a pot of tea and fresh fruit, courtesy of Evelyn Weekes. She’d offered, and he’d thankfully agreed. Everything he had learned about “doing the right thing” had come from his housekeeper, not the self-centred actions of his parents. No matter how much fire sparked between him and Sam, Chas was determined not be like his father nor his father before him. If he could keep Sam at a distance, it would be better for both of them. Her stubborn refusal to do as she was bid would certainly help that along, Chas thought wryly.

But regardless of any personal animosity that might exist between them, he’d been sufficiently worried about the tumble Sam had taken that morning to put off any thought of the work ahead of them. A hot bath and a restful afternoon might soothe both muscles and feelings. He knew his own were thoroughly bruised.

Standing stock still, he savoured the orderly peacefulness of the stable. It had always been a place of solace for him; he hoped it was for Sam as well. Oblivious to his presence, she crooned a soft tune as she fussed over Max. Chas was loath to interrupt, yet if he didn’t announce his presence soon, they might get off on the wrong foot again and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Hello?” he called advancing down the line of stalls.

The singing stopped.

“Sam?” Chas repeated. “Are you in here?” Aside from Damien shifting his massive weight through the straw on the other side of the stable from Max, there was an absence of sound. Beyond the pounding of his heart, of course,
which seemed to be playing havoc with his mind.
He’d give her another few minutes to compose herself, he decided,
then
he would pull rank. He’d fought long and hard to become his own man, and no employee of his, no matter how
enticing, was going to worm her way into his life, leaving him cautious and unsure of his next move.

Luckily, Sam chose that moment to step out of Max’s stall. She was wearing an old sweater belonging to Mrs. Weekes, and held a brush in her hand. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Now that she was in front of him, his hard stance slipped away. They stood a few paces apart assessing each other’s moods. The silence seemed to stretch forever,
then
green eyes met his, and relaxed. Chas was rewarded with a tentative smile. “Thank you for letting me take the afternoon off,” said Sam. “This morning’s adventure was a bit of a shock.” She cocked her head.
“Pleasant, but shocking.”
she
added.

Chas surged forward, saw the mischief written all over her face, and felt relief ripple through him. She was okay, she wasn’t angry, and the world could go forward again.

“You did a great job on Max’s coat,” she continued. “I couldn’t find a speck of mud anywhere.”

“I spent most of my afternoon out here,” Chas admitted, “currying the life out of both of them. It seems to have settled us all down,” he added. He threw a puzzled glance towards Damien’s stall. “Usually, at this time of night, I come in here and find two long faces…it’s pathetic really the way they beg for attention.
And treats.”
He grinned at her. “I’ll bet Damien tossed his head towards that sack hanging outside the tack room until you took the hint.”

“Ahh,” said Sam. “He was determined, but it was Max batting his eyelashes that did me in. And how many apples did you give them this afternoon, Mr. Porter?” she teased.

“One or two…dozen,” Chas admitted.

“They’re pigs, not horses,” laughed Sam. “Aren’t you Damien?” She asked as his big head swung over the rails at her approach.

Chas went to stand beside her.
With her auburn hair up in a ponytail, and her ragamuffin outfit, it was hard to believe she wasn’t still in her teens. A shaft of sunlight caught the sheen in her hair, he saw Sam for the natural beauty; she didn’t need cosmetics and designer clothes. It wouldn’t matter if she were mucking out the stable or shepherding a wealthy client around the silver department, she would be gracious and poised and…totally, totally desirable.

He rubbed Damien’s whiskered muzzle. “Nice try,” he told the big horse, “but your breath smells like cider.”

“We did give them a good workout,” he teased her.

“That we did.” Suddenly, Sam’s face puckered. She turned away and half-raised her arm to indicate she was going back to finish grooming Max who was making his displeasure known against the wooden sides of the stall.

“Sam…wait.” Chas touched her lightly on the arm.

She twisted her face towards his, uncertainty written where a few minutes earlier, he’d seen pleasure, and he knew he was responsible for this myriad of feelings which had engulfed them since the second he’d picked her out at the auction hall. It was up to him to reassure her, to close the distance between them, and he had to do it now.

Before the damage was too deep.

“It’s obvious we can’t go back to the way things were before yesterday.” Chas cleared his throat. Talking about how he felt was so much harder than having a conversation in his head. Here, in front of the woman who had unleashed a passionate longing he had never known before, he was as tongue-tied as a schoolboy. And about as emotionally mature. But those days were over. His urge to protect her overrode his natural reluctance to share his heart with anyone. He would say his piece. As a man who was finally, thanks to this woman, able to express his feelings, no matter how halting and awkward the delivery.

“…And I don’t want to,” he said finally, “but I do want us to be friends. Perhaps, under different circumstances, we could be more…I don’t know what else to say...you’re a beautiful woman and…hell, I don’t know what else to say!”

He held his hand out. “Miss Samantha Redfern, would you please do me the honour of being my friend?” It sounded foolish to his ears and certainly wasn’t the phrase he’d practised earlier, but it made Sam laugh.

And then her chin went up, and she stuck out her hand. “Yes, Mr. Porter,” she said. “I would very much like to be your friend.”

Her voice wavered, and he could have sworn her eyes were wet with tears as he took her hand in his, but he stood strong. He had to…they were close enough for him to sweep her into his arms and forget all her stubborn, cantankerous traits while he savoured the lushness of her lips once more.

He released her hand.

Dusk was throwing shadows into the corners of the stable. A dangerous desire to make love to this woman on a bed of straw was making him crazy. “Shall we see to the horses?” he asked
instead. “Nice wellingtons,” he added noting the knee-high rubber boots she wore as they worked together to bed down the horses.

“Turns out Evelyn and I are the same size.”

“Really,” said Chas, opening the door for her. “Too bad she doesn’t ride.”

Sam gave him a playful punch on the arm and they strolled in companionable silence back to the house.

A
s the morning light filled her bedroom, Sam rolled over with unaccustomed luxury, stretched and yawned. Her bottom might be tender from yesterday's fall in the mud, but it was nothing compared to the pains in her legs. And she’d thought she was in good shape, walking around London’s parks on the weekends, and getting off the underground ahead of her stop when the weather was nice. If she wanted to continue riding Max, she would have to up her game.

 At least, she’d slept much better, despite knowing that, for her, every minute she spent in Chas’ company would be fraught with danger. There was no denying his touch thrilled her, his kisses aroused her, and his playful courtship and backtrack towards friendship had impressed her. To be so close to falling in love, and then having to pretend it never happened, was going to be a challenge.